


i'll never get you (i don't expect to)

by louisdeservesbetter



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: But Explicit Consent Is Asked For And Received, Canon Era, Dub Con By Nature of It Being Sex Pollen, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, Longing, M/M, Mention of blood, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisdeservesbetter/pseuds/louisdeservesbetter
Summary: And Jefferson hated him— the short-sighted ideas and over-written arguments, but also the charm and allure that made people so willing to listen. Jefferson had never denied Hamilton’s comely, but had never let himself fall prey to it. There was something different, though, having that charm turned on him, being looked up at through long eyelashes, being begged by that gentle curve of a mouth. Something like want.Something that was foolish and ruinous and that hewould not allow.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	i'll never get you (i don't expect to)

Jefferson awoke to the sound of an anxious, hurried rapping at his door. He’d fallen asleep on the divan, before a pile of notes in preparation for the debates tomorrow, and hadn’t expected such an early rousing. He walked to the door, still in dayclothes, and ran a hand over his face. The rapping hadn’t stopped. His head was aching and he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep for this.

He pulled open the door, ready to berate whoever had woken him, but didn’t manage to get a word out once he saw who it was. In the foyer was Hamilton, wild-eyed and lungs heaving. His lapel was eschew and the buttons on his coat were fastened wrong, as if he’d dressed in a hurry. It was disconcerting. For all the fast-talking and quick wit with which Jefferson had come to associate Hamilton, there was something unpredictable, and dangerous, about the wildness emanating off of him.

Before Jefferson could say a word, Hamilton grabbed him by the front of the coat, bunching the fabric in his hands and pulling him in so they were near nose-to-nose. The unsteady rhythm of Hamilton’s breath warmed his lips, and Jefferson could do little but look at his reflection in the dilated pupils. 

“Jefferson,” Hamilton said, voice scratchy almost beyond recognition. “I need you to fuck me.”

Jefferson shoved him away, retreating a step or two into the manor. There was no one there— everyone had long since gone to bed— but his eyes still darted around, searching for someone watching. But there was no one.

Hamilton stepped through the foyer, the door closed behind him. He shrugged off his coat, the fabric sliding off his raised shoulders and plummeting to the floor. The shirt beneath was in no better state. The upper buttons were left unfastened, such that the bare skin of his chest was exposed. He was quick to catch up with Jefferson— somehow, he moved faster than usual— and curl his fingers into the shirt fabric.

“You’re tense, Jefferson,” he said, as Jefferson tried in vain to push him off. “Don’t you want to do something about that?”

“Get off of me.” Jefferson clasped a hand around Hamilton’s wrist, enough force to push him off. “What are you— Get out of my house.”

“Make me.”

Jefferson could see the intention behind the words, the rough edge to his voice and the spit-shine of his lips. He wasn’t that easy to fool.

“Is this some ploy? Some trick? I thought you had better tactics than seduction.”

“No tricks,” Hamilton said. “Just— you don’t _get_ it. I _need_ this.” His hand reached out, traced the line of Jefferson’s jaw with his manicured hands. “I need you.”

And Jefferson hated him— the short-sighted ideas and over-written arguments, but also the charm and allure that made people so willing to listen. Jefferson had never denied Hamilton’s comely, but had never let himself fall prey to it. There was something different, though, having that charm turned on him, being looked up at through long eyelashes, being begged by that gentle curve of a mouth. Something like want.

Something that was foolish and ruinous and that he _would not allow._

“I need _you_ out of my home,” Jefferson said. “Whatever crazed drunk you’ve turned into, I have nothing to say to him.”

“Come on, _Thomas,_ ” he purred, hands roaming over his shoulders and back, their chests nearly flush. “Haven’t you always wanted to shut me up? How about you do it with your—”

And that was _enough_. Jefferson shoved him against the wall, hard, and Hamilton hissed as his skull hit the mahogany. “ _Shut up_.”

Jefferson’s forearm was pressed against Hamilton’s shoulders, such that, if he turned it a few degrees to the side, it would block his airflow. Hamilton looked down, saw this, and looked back up to meet his eyes. In the resounding, heated silence that followed, all that was left was the sound of heavy breathing and Hamilton’s half-quirk of a grin.

Then, in the second-long lack of defense, Jefferson felt Hamilton’s mouth press against his. Hamilton was kissing him. His mouth was hot and angry, the teeth biting at his lips as sharp and focused as his arguments in the cabinet.

“Fuck you,” Jefferson growled as he shoved Hamilton off. Then, drawn in by the red of his lips and the determined furrow of his brow, he pulled him in for another kiss.

“Nothing I’d rather have you do,” Hamilton sniped, nails biting into the skin of Jefferson’s neck.

They grappled with each other, hands over jackets and under shirts, Hamilton always giving just enough fight to keep Jefferson fighting back.

“I hate you,” Jefferson said. “Not a bit of this changes that.”

“Wouldn’t imagine it.” Hamilton flipped them, pushed Jefferson hard against the wall just once, before hooking a finger under the fabric of his trousers and pulling him to the divan.

Jefferson followed, his breath frantic as his thoughts. He hated Hamilton, hatred amplified by the magnitude of want. He felt, suddenly, far less in control, like he was losing this battle by even entertaining Hamilton’s wants. But he was in this now, he’d given it away with the press of his mouth and the short of his breath. So he would regain that control however he could.

He shoved Hamilton, no gentleness about it, down onto the divan, minding little his fast exhale as his back hit the cushion. He climbed over him, straddling him with knees on either side of his waist, and leaned in to bite the skin of his neck. He drew his hand over Hamilton’s torso, pulling roughly the buttons until they either broke off or unfastened — Jefferson didn’t have it in him to care. Jefferson traced his finger down the exposed chest as he bit down deep enough to break the skin of his neck. Hamilton gasped and buried his fingers in Jefferson’s hair.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jefferson hissed, pressing his mouth to Hamilton’s so that he could taste the blood on Jefferson’s lips. His fingers toyed with the buttons on Hamilton’s trousers. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Hamilton sighed, head tilted backwards and eyes pressed shut. His face had flushed as pink as his lips, hair spilling out over the pillow. _He is beautiful_. Jefferson refused to entertain the thought, choosing instead to grab Hamilton by the wrists and pin them to the cushion. “ _Yes_ , for longer than you know.”

The words made his breath hitch and his cheeks redden, so he buried his face once again in the curve of Hamilton’s shoulder. With fumbling, suddenly unsteady fingers, he undid the final button of Hamilton’s trousers and pushed them down to his ankles. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” Jefferson said, words breathed against Hamilton’s neck. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around Hamilton’s wrist was busy undoing the buttons of his own trousers. “Is that what you want?”

Hamilton answered with the tilt of his head and his mouth against Jefferson’s. “Yes,” he promised. “ _Please_.”

Jefferson pushed him back down, saw Hamilton shadowed beneath him. For whatever reasons, with whatever consequences, he wanted this. This battle of physicality and touch, instead of mind and wit, that was still just as whole-hearted and contentious. He _wanted_ it.

And so, after one final moment of hesitation, he leaned in, and took it.

* * *

Jefferson woke up cramped and dazed, flat on his back with an inconsistent weight on his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, swearing lightly under his breath as he caught in his periphery a glance of whom he’d woken up next to. Hamilton was pressed against his still-clothed torso, hair splayed out over Jefferson’s body, fingers curled in the wrinkled fabric. His eyes had lost their trademark dark circles, and he looked oddly peaceful. 

He looked over the two of them, searching for a way to slip out unnoticed. He tried a cautionary move of the shoulder, but even that had Hamilton stirring. He had half a mind to throw him out onto the street, naked as he was, locking the door and not sparing another thought to the night before. It would certainly be easier.

“Oh— _fuck._ ”

Jefferson shut his eyes, but Hamilton had already seen him awake. He was half sat up, palm pressing into Jefferson’s chest. Jefferson sighed — a heavy thing not unimpacted by the sudden force against his lungs — and opened his eyes. Hamilton looked panicked above him, already hurrying off the divan, a frantic collection of limbs that left him sprawled over the fur carpet.

“What did we— what did _you_ —” Hamilton tried, his voice scratchy from overuse the previous night.

Jefferson looked down at him, then sat up, casually as he could, and began to straighten his own clothing. “Were you that drunk?” The idea had occurred to him, the night before, that Hamilton had been intoxicated. His behavior had been _off_ , certainly, but more focused than a drunk’s and lacking the wide-eyed incoherence Jefferson associated with most drugs.

Hamilton cradled his head in his hand, not meeting Jefferson’s eyes. “Not drunk. But, something. Feels like I’ve been poisoned.” He reached over, grabbing onto his clothes that had been cast out over the floor. “Why did you do it?”

Jefferson felt the heat rise to his face and he lifted his chin to hide it. “What other option did you give me?”

Hamilton met his eyes then, kept contact for a long moment. When he looked away, he did so with a sharp turn of the head that gave Jefferson no more answers than any of his words had. “This is never happening again,” Hamilton said, pulling on his trousers. “I was poisoned. That’s it.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jefferson swore. His tone was light, despite the sudden tightness in his chest. A side effect of a long day and a too-short rest, he told himself, and spared no thought for a contradiction.

“Good.” Hamilton buttoned up his shirt, the white fabric still bearing a speck of blood that matched the dark bruise on Hamilton’s neck. With the collar flipped up to hide it, he looked near halfway to composed, standing in Jefferson’s foyer. “We never speak of this again, understood?”

“I’ve already forgotten it.”

Before Jefferson could even finish speaking, Hamilton was striding through the door, into the daylight. Jefferson watched his retreating silhouette until it was out of view. Then, he stood, and walked to the kitchen.

During his barefoot tread through a room unfamiliar in the daylight, he thought over the night before. It was his last chance to, as he planned to keep his word; he’d never repeat his actions, or speak of them, or even ponder them, if he could help it. So he let himself remember the warm press of Hamilton’s skin on his, the taste of his mouth, the way his voice had softened as he’d confessed that he’d wanted this ‘ _for longer than you know_.’ There was no truth to any of it, surely; Hamilton had made it all too clear that it had all been the result of a late night and a potent poison. But that was why Jefferson would think about it now.

He would cast those memories aside by midday, but for now, in the gentle light of morning, he let himself remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello loves!! We're back with something a little different. This is a birthday gift for a dear friend of ours, hope you enjoy!! We're new to writing these characters so hopefully we did them justice!!
> 
> The title is from "Love You Like A Dog" by Case.
> 
> We always love to hear what you thought!! Kudos are always greatly appreciated as well. Have a great day and, as always, love ya bye!!


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